Mentally Unstable
by xrictusemprax
Summary: House does the unthinkable. From antihero to villain. R&R.


**Author's Note: **Plot bunny! He has returned! I was struck with this idea watching The Mistake.

**Disclaimer: **Hm, let's see. I own Wilson's left index finger and exactly where the diagonal of his big toe meets the skin… well, that area but two millimeters down. As for House, what are mine are his eyebrow hairs. In short, I don't own, it won't happen.

**Rating: **T… again…

Mentally Unstable 

House stared down at the panting girl who was meekly returning the gaze. Cameron, Foreman, Chase, and Wilson stood a short distance away from him, giving the doctor time to think. All of them were ready to act on his orders.

"I want a biopsy."

At first there was no movement, his crew confused. Then Wilson burst out laughing. "Biopsy? Of what? Some tumor you have no proof that exists? We've done a CT and MRI, none proved anything—"

"Which is why I want a brain biopsy. It explains the symptoms, doesn't it?"

Foreman stepped towards his boss and shook his head. "You have lost your mind. The area we're working with deals with sight and other senses! Do you want to make her blind? We nick anything, and I mean anything…" he shook his head, sighing. "I won't do it. Cameron and Chase will have to do it for you."

"That biopsy is going to kill her." Chase whispered. Everyone turned to look at him. "We've had excessive hemorrhage, and more meddling with that area and her brain will… I don't know, stop functioning or explode somewhat like a bomb. We could make it start to bleed again, all into her head. You _can't_ do a biopsy."

Cameron's eyes were frozen still. "House, listen to yourself. You have no proof of any tumors—"

House's mouth fell open dimly and he shrugged. "I want it done. Schedule her for noon tomorrow."

"NO!" Cameron slammed her fist onto the table, "No, you can't! Generally I'd assume it's your brilliance, but none of us see anything productive from this. Seriously." She pleaded, staring at him.

"Twelve o'clock, sharp. None of that 'I won't do it' crap from you, Foreman. I want all of you—Wilson, you included, here tomorrow at that exact time with your gloves ready. Sleep well." He made his way out of the patient's room, Wilson hot on his heels.

"You… are either doing this to confuse the living hell out of us… or maybe you _have_ gone insane," James weighed his words. "What do you mean by it?"

His voice was very loud in the still and empty corridor. House and he went into the lifts and waited in silence. Finally, "I don't mean anything by it."

"She's had two huge hemorrhages. Who's to say tomorrow's biopsy won't kill her? A little bleeding, fine, but what you intend to do is not prove a point like you always want to," Wilson was determinedly staring into House's blue eyes, "You are doing this to murder a girl."

House looked innocently at Wilson, smiling. "Really? You know, they don't fire doctors for killing people purposely, they put them into jail."

Just then, the lifts had opened and House led the way out of the clinic. Wilson followed without a word.

XXX

The following day at noon, Gregory House was in complete charge of the dangerous biopsy. He had denied an anesthesiologist to be there for the risky procedure and instead, made Wilson, someone who knew much about cancer and little about anesthetics, administrator of her morphine.

House himself had taken the knife into his hands and without asking, cut a thin line down her scalp. "Change in plans," he smiled happily, "I mulled over this last night and decided I'd rather operate on her."

"You're no surgeon," Chase was breathing quickly, too scared to move. "This has got to be some horribly bad joke."

"Nope," House cheerfully said, "No, I thought that since we have huge risks of making her hemorrhagic again without perfect sight, we're in much better luck to cut her head open. Call it an open-brain biopsy."

Cameron bit her lip nervously. "We don't have any paper work for an open-brain _surger_y."

"Well, we kind of do. I got Cuddy to sign some forms for this little open-brain biopsy and the patient consents to it fully." House's gaze was too dangerous, but he was not lying. The trio standing before him nodded very slowly. "Good, then. I mean, I won't do anything wrong, I've seen it done a million times," the air about him was way too relaxed…

Wilson had almost snapped back a retort, but his mind was too focused on the morphine rates and heartbeat. He looked at the rest of them—it was an odd scene. Not a single person in the room looked like they knew what they were doing, but seemed determined to do it either way.

House's crafty hands had soon managed to cut her scalp totally open and before them, it was a surgeon's wet dream and an immunologist's nightmare. He was looking at the brain carefully, Foreman standing over his shoulder. "There it is," House grinned and before anyone could scream "NO!", he had toyed with the scalpel as though the brain was made of butter and he was going to spread it on a piece of bread.

The blood that had issued was massive. It poured out like a rainstorm of red. Without speaking, he looked at Wilson. James knew what the look meant—take her off the morphine. He did as the look directed.

Cameron dropped to her knees and started to bawl very suddenly. Chase helped comfort her, his pupils dilated in shock and fear.

Before any of them could scream anything, the heart rate was dropping, sounds issuing from the heart monitor. No one did anything. They watched the line drop to a perfect 180-degree angle. She was dead.

"You… killed her." Foreman's mouth had felt very dry as though he had been eating sand all day.

House shrugged and pulled something from his pocket in a glass casing. Naturally, Wilson was the first to realize what it was—"A tumor? A _brain_ tumor? Who the hell gave you that?"

Cameron looked up with red eyes. She was shuddering, screaming and pleading for forgiveness from God as the blood kept on pouring out the girl's head.

"The morgue." House insisted, "You're sworn to secrecy. Let's say I took this from her head," he gestured to the tumor in the jar, "And I ruptured a vessel. The hemorrhage was too excessive. She died cold on our hands."

"House, they can find out none of that works with her DNA! The chromosome—" Chase was beginning to say very hysterically but Wilson cut him off.

"Stop, Robert," his eyes were watery and he looked at House, "What if they do test? Then what?"

House smirked. "Do you know what cancer is?"

"No, I studied it for the past eight years, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Wilson rolled his eyes.

Greg smiled. "The DNA is mutated, no one will know who it belonged to. This tumor is malignant. Know I have something on all of you, something that you will pay for if you tell anyone what has just happened."

They left the OR, Chase and Cameron crying softly together.

XXX

"You are a murderer." Wilson stated as he and House sat together, enjoying a beer a home. The oncologist was scared that perhaps Greg would advance to his second killing, but thought the fear irrational.

"Well," House easily said, chuckling. "Maybe."

"You sliced her head open, cut the brain into pieces and stole a tumor you could pretend was hers at the meeting Cuddy's holding tomorrow to conform death and the issue of the girl's family suing. This wasn't accident. This is meticulous. House, you have killed someone with ill intent."

Gregory looked up into Wilson's eyes. "Doctors make mistakes."

"Yet you swore us all to secrecy! I won't be a snitch, yet I don't know about Foreman, Chase and Cameron but they seem loyal enough. Still, if this is uncovered you face life in prison." Wilson's face was tinted with stress. "Why did you do it, Gregory? What did she do to you?" he let himself cry, not caring.

House sighed. "I wanted to see if Cuddy would let me. I wanted to prove to myself that I have people _loyal_ to me to keep a secret."

"No," Wilson sharply interjected, "That's not it. People kill for trillions and trillions of reasons. Just like there's plenty reasons why someone lies. You killed her. You're a doctor, tying to SAVE people, not to carelessly invent tests, lie to a boss, and trick everyone who is your friend."

House's grin was lopsided and cold. "I have no friends."

"I'm your friend!"

"That's what _you_ say." Gregory muttered, laying the beer down. "You're right, there are a lot of reasons to kill someone. I did it this way. If you're so curious, it's to know what it's like to take life from somebody."

Wilson growled in frustration, "You have so much authority already! That's NOT it!"

"NO!" finally, he was going to explode. "I don't! Not with Cuddy and Stacy over my shoulder! They're wrong this time. I. Win."

James shook his head. "I—" he was interrupted by House, who said: "I think I have to go to the washroom."

"Go, then," Wilson snapped rudely.

He took off, rushing into the small bathroom. Without thinking, the tap was on and soap was all over his hands. Gregory was trying to erase the blood off his hands, wanting to peel it from the small crooks of his fingers. It hurt as his palms turned a dull pink color, but he saw the blood everywhere.

Looking into the mirror, his face was scarred and bloodied. The top of his head was missing and red combined with grayish brain drizzled out.

James knocked on the door. "Everything all right?"

House didn't respond. Snapping his eyes away from the reflective surface, he focused on his hands. Soon, they were bleeding through open wounds that split from too much rubbing. Smiling, Gregory admitted he liked the patterns the blood made with the freezing water.

**The end.**


End file.
